


First Light

by Kaspy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Whump, Blindness, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Deaf, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Resolution, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaspy/pseuds/Kaspy
Summary: Arthur is itching to get out of camp after a few weeks at Horseshoe Overlook, Dutch has a plan. Unsurprisingly, that plan doesn't go so well. As a result, Arthur is left in a silent, pitch-black void with no clear way out.





	1. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, this first chapter isn't going to be too angsty. Stick around if you want to see some whump.

The sun cast its warm glow over the valley as Arthur kept watch. It wasn’t a task he was usually assigned to, but everyone had busied themselves with exploring their new home and it’s neighboring town, Valentine. The camp was oddly quiet as a result. Arthur preferred it that way, as much as he enjoyed singing songs around the campfire, he also liked being left to his thoughts. It was in those quiet moments that he’d write in his journal or draw his surroundings, but this time, Arthur didn’t feel like doing either.

“How are you?” Someone asked, snapping Arthur out of his fixation on the horizon. It was Hosea, taking a seat on the rock beside him.

“Just peachy,” Arthur responded gruffly.

Hosea shook his head, sighing. “Well, Dutch wanted me to tell you that he’s got a job and wants you to be part of it, something about a factory.”

It was welcome news to Arthur, who was beginning to think Dutch was putting his days of robbing behind him. That notion was ridiculous, of course, Dutch would never change. “So you’re saying I finally get to do something exciting? I’m guessing he put you on watch then.”

The older man shifted uncomfortably before responding, “You’d be correct. It’d probably be best if you went and spoke with him now, he was talking about heading out soon.”

Arthur nodded, brushing the dust off his pants as he stood. “I’ll see ya around,” he said, leaving Hosea to his job. It was clear the man didn’t enjoy being left out of the more exciting work, but Arthur was just relieved he no longer had to sit idly watching the clouds roll by. It’d been a month since the botched Ferry job and he hadn’t done anything too exciting, aside from saving John from those wolves.

Dutch soon came into view, hunched over the worn table in his tent. “Arthur!” He exclaimed upon seeing the younger man. “It’s about time you joined us.”

John stood next to Dutch, looking impatient. “Great,” Arthur mumbled, “you’re bringing scar-face along? I thought he ain’t been feeling well.”

John glared, obviously tired of the other man’s teasing. “Shut up, Arthur. I’m feeling just fine.”

Having had enough, Dutch slammed a hand down on the table. “Will you two stop bickering? What we’re doing here is important. It could get us a lot, if not most, of the money we need to establish ourselves.”

Arthur wasn’t quite sure what he meant by ‘establishing themselves,’ but he didn’t care to ask. As long as the money was good, and the job wasn’t incredibly risky, he was in. “What exactly are we going after?”

“I’ve been told by a trusted source that there’s a factory that’s about to have a whole bunch of gold passing through it. There shouldn’t be many guards, it’s supposed to be a low-profile transaction.”

John grinned eagerly. “When do we head out?”

Not liking what he was hearing, Arthur interjected, “Slow down Marston! Dutch, I like the thought of gold as much as just about everyone else, but doesn’t this sound a little too promising? I’d like to know where you heard of this gold.”

“Where I got it the information from isn’t important. You’re going to have to trust me on this one. Believe me, I wouldn’t lead us into something I wasn’t sure of.”

Arthur stifled another protest. It was futile, trying to talk the older man out of something once he’d already set his mind to it. It had been that way since he could remember. Dutch’s crazy plans, however, did usually lead to something good.

Shifting closer to the table to see the map Dutch had spread out, Arthur shook his head. “Looks like a goddamn maze.”

It did, lines paralleling each other to make up multiple sets of twisting hallways. There appeared to be two levels to the factory, the upper one even more confusing than first. John appeared to agree with Arthur as he squinted at the paper. Dutch remained unamused.

“I’ll bring Bill and Javier if you two are too dull-witted to handle a simple robbery,” he said, half-joking, half not.

The two younger men exchanged troubled looks before pronouncing their willingness to go, neither of them wanting to spend any more time at camp than was necessary. Dutch, looking satisfied, explained his plans with more detail. Every movement was to be carefully laid out and executed if they didn’t want any trouble. It was all a little much for Arthur to take in.

“So, that’s the plan. You boys have any questions?” Dutch asked pensively.

Not wanting to annoy the man any further, Arthur kept quiet, sure he’d be able to figure it out as they went along. It couldn’t be as complicated as Dutch was making it out to be.

John motioned towards the setting sun. “We’re not heading out tonight, are we?”

“No,” Dutch said, “we’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. You two prepare yourselves tonight, I have to go deal with some business in Valentine.”

“This late?” Arthur questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Dutch shifted uncomfortably and turned to walk away, looking back at the younger man. “What’s gotten into you, Arthur? You shouldn’t concern yourself so much with other people’s business.”

His words stung, making Arthur briefly question what Dutch would feel the need to hide, why he didn’t trust Arthur enough to tell him. The whole thing seemed to amuse John. Of course it did, Marston and him hadn’t been on the best of terms since he’d abandoned the gang for a little over a year. It sickened Arthur how little he seemed to regret it, leaving Jack and Abigail behind.

Not wanting to bring up his qualms, Arthur started towards his tent at a brisk pace. He was thankful nobody stopped him along the way, he wasn’t in the mood for talking. He was just itching to do something- anything. Whenever he was still for too long, his mind would conjure up thoughts and memories, the ones he would rather forget.

 

****

 

 The smell of Pearson’s stew woke Arthur pleasantly from his dreamless sleep. It wasn’t light out yet, the sun still out of sight behind the horizon. He rubbed his eyes and sat up with a groan, looking across the camp to Pearson’s tent. It was shocking to see the man at work so early. He’d usually sleep until late morning.

A loud gurgle sounded in Arthur’s stomach. “Christ,” he mumbled, getting up to make his way to the stew.

Pearson smiled when he saw him. “Ah, so you’re the first one up? That’s surprising.”

“Shut up, ya fool. I’ve never seen you up this early.”

The man’s smile quickly dissipated. “I thought you fellas would be hungry! I thought you might have some appreciation for once,” he said, gesturing to the soup pot. “Guess I shouldn’t have expected much.”

“Arthur giving you a hard time, Pearson?” John called out, approaching the pair.

Arthur grimaced, the sun hadn’t risen and he was already in a bad mood. Suppressing his annoyance, he reached for a bowl and scooped up a helping of the surprisingly pleasant smelling food. It was unusual for Pearson to even consider doing something so thoughtful.

“I ain't giving him a hard time. Thank you, Pearson.”

The camp cook smiled once again, his eyes focused on something behind Arthur. It was Dutch, striding forward. He appeared completely alert and wore a wide grin.

“Hello boys, ready to get going?” He asked gleefully.

Arthur nodded, scooping up the last bit soup and shoveling it into his mouth.

John hurried over to the pot in response, dipping the ladle in and gulping it up obnoxiously. “I’m ready!” He announced, loud enough to wake the entire camp.

The three men promptly mounted their horses and rode out, Arthur and John following Dutch’s lead through the dense forest and out to the roads twisting towards Valentine. Nobody spoke. Arthur was kept in silent awe as he watched the vibrant sunrise, everything around him springing to life. He was rarely up early enough to appreciate such sights. He wondered if the other men were as fond of it as he was.

They'd soon made their way through Valentine, and Arthur struggled to remember where the factory was located. He knew Dutch had mentioned it during his walkthrough of the plan, but he hadn't really been paying attention. 

“Alright, we’re almost there,” Dutch said quietly, much to Arthur's surprise, guiding The Count to a stop. “We should leave our horses here.”

Arthur swung his legs over his horse, landing on the ground effortlessly. He debated bringing his shotgun before quickly deciding against it, having a weapon so large would hinder his ability to move without being detected.

They stood a few yards away from the factory, hidden by trees and brush. Dutch stood tall, as if he was ready for anything, waiting on John to get his weapons sorted. Once he did, the older man whispered roughly, “you boys ready?”

Arthur was ready, of course he was.


	2. High Noon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little short, then next one will be a little big longer so get ready for that.

A dusty coach pulled up to the factory at a moderate pace, skidding to a halt besides a pair of frilly-looking men who’d been waiting for awhile. Meanwhile, John and Arthur crouched behind an uncomfortably thorny bush.

“Finally,” John murmured, “I thought it’d never show up.”

Now all the pair of men had to do was wait. They both caught sight of Dutch making his move, approaching the coach and the men confidently. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I seem to have gotten myself horribly lost! Could either of you lend a hand?” He asked. Arthur was pleasantly surprised when the men took the bait, following Dutch to the front-end of the coach.

The gold was still in the factory, that much Arthur knew, but Dutch hadn’t specified where. Probably because he didn’t know. “You ready?” He asked John.

The younger man turned to him, eyes full of determination. “Let’s go.”

They took off towards the factory entrance as quickly and quietly as they could, crouching behind the coach and opening the factory door slowly. Much to their relief, nobody seemed to take note.

Arthur recognized the hallway in front of him from the map Dutch had procured the previous day. It stretched on a ways ahead of them towards another door. John opened it carefully, but couldn’t stop the inevitable screech of rusty metal against metal. He cursed under his breath.

The door opened to a large room, crammed with all sorts of machinery, most of which Arthur didn’t recognize. It was strange. On any other day, the factory would be bustling with workers and the machines would whir to life, but it wasn’t any other day. The trade that was being made was, apparently, big enough to shut down it’s usual operations.

“I’ll take the bottom floor, you search the top,” John said insistently.

Arthur, a bit put off by John ordering him around, responded bitingly, “Whatever you say, boss.”

John shot back with another jab, but Arthur ignored him, making his way up the shakey metal stairs to the second floor. The first thing he noticed was barrels, lots of them. Each boldly labeled ‘Danger.’ He tried to ignore them, opting to search the first room to his left.

It was an office, a worn desk sitting in the center of the room with papers strewn loosely across it. The walls were lined with shelves that held trophies and medals. Arthur wondered if they were worth anything, but quickly put the notion aside. He was looking for gold, and he needed to find it fast.

After searching several more rooms, Arthur heard John shout, “I found it, Arthur, get down here!”

It was thrilling news and, for a moment, Arthur thought they may have been in the clear. Then there was a gunshot, then another, followed up by footsteps and shouting voices of men he didn’t recognize.

Arthur’s blood ran cold, a crushing thought overtaking him. The thought that Dutch and John had both been gunned down, that he was stuck upstairs with nowhere to run. He took a deep breath and slowly backed away from the staircase.

“Where’d the bastard go?” One of the men shouted. Arthur let out a sigh of relief, John had managed to slip away. He assured himself that Dutch had too despite having no way of knowing.

The voices were just starting to fade out into other parts of the factory when there was a loud bang, a sudden force sending Arthur flying backwards, his back emitting a loud crack as he hit the wall. He couldn’t help but scream, his spine burning sharply. The smoke surrounding him blurred his vision and his ears rang harshly.

“I got one!” He heard a muffled voice say, shortly before a stocky man appeared in front of him. The man pulled out a pistol and aimed it swiftly at Arthur’s head. “You’re coming with me, cowpoke.”

Arthur reached for his own gun, drawing it and firing before the other man could react. The man gripped at the bloody hole now punched through his chest, shakely raising his pistol up and firing a single shot. The bullet whizzed past Arthur’s head, striking one of the barrels behind him. It was in that short moment that he remembered the warning labels.

There was another explosion, this one closer and even more powerful than the last. Arthur felt himself leave the ground, felt gravity pulling him back down. So, he did the only thing he could do, he closed his eyes.

Then everything went dark.

 

****

 

Dutch was convinced everything was going well. He’d successfully captivated the attention of the men who had been waiting for the coach and that of the coach driver himself. He was in the middle of spinning an elaborate story about how he’d traveled from New York and was bound for California, but had gotten lost in a disastrous snowstorm along the way. Then he heard gunfire. It was coming from inside the factory.

“Will you gentlemen excuse me,” Dutch began, turning his attention back to his audience, his mind spinning. The smug looks on their faces did nothing to assure him.

It was a setup, of course it had been, he thought hastily. He’d been so sure his source was trustworthy.

None of that mattered now. Acting fast, he drew his guns, quickly disposing of the three men in front of him. They’d looked so proud of themselves, too proud to anticipate Dutch’s retaliation. “Idiots,” he hissed, rushing to the factory door, flinging it open with ease. The hallway in front of him seemed to stretch on forever as he ran. All he could think about was Arthur and John, whether he’d be too late.

There was a loud boom just as Dutch wrapped his hand around the next door handle, sending him flying backwards. It knocked the wind out of him, but he was soon back on his feet. The doorway he’d tried to enter was now blocked by a barricade of flames.

“Arthur, John!” He called out desperately, hoping the younger men would come rushing out of the fire, telling Dutch how ridiculous he was for worrying. But that didn’t happen. So he scrambled back out the exit, running as fast as his legs could carry him to the only other entrance he knew of. He was met with a panicked John, stumbling out of the door in a coughing fit.

“Where’s Arthur?” Dutch demanded, his voice shaky. John was quiet. “For Christ’s sake, John! Where the hell is he?”

“He’s still inside!” John yelled, looking angry with himself.

Dutch didn’t pay him any mind, rushing through the door only to be overwhelmed by smoke. He pushed through it, coughing relentlessly as the ground beneath him shook. It was another explosion, only heightening his panic. “Arthur!” He cried out into the haze. There was no response, and Dutch found himself tripping over something on the ground. He looked down.

It was Arthur, face-down in a pool of black sludge. Dutch reached for him, turning him on his back. The younger man was unconscious and bloody, but he wasn’t dead. At least, Dutch didn’t think he was dead. So, picking the man up as best he could, he ran, bursting out the back door of the factory only to collapse in front of John.

The younger man rushed to Dutch’s side quickly, taking a look at the state Arthur was in. “Is- is he dead?” He asked quietly.

“No, he would have been if we’d left him there much longer,” Dutch said, looking up at him. There was a sudden movement in his arms, Arthur springing to life, scrambling to get away from Dutch.

“Arthur, it’s ok,” Dutch assured him, holding his hands up. “I got you out of there.”

Arthur didn’t seem to hear him, hands rubbing his eyes. “I can’t-” he said, his voice breaking out into a scream.

Dutch rushed towards him, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder before the younger man quickly shoved it away, moving further back. It was then Dutch saw his eyes, pink and burned, trails of blood coming from his ears. “Oh my god, son, what happened?” His heart was pounding in his chest, he hated seeing Arthur so afraid.

There was still no response. “Arthur, say something!” John spoke up, but there was nothing. No, the only noise Arthur made was a pitiful whimper as he turned his head frantically, like he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

Then, in a moment, it was over. Arthur’s eyes rolled back into his head as he fell limply on the ground, slipping back into an unconscious state.


	3. Nightfall

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he’d been out when he woke up. The first thing he noticed was the way every bone in his body ached, the second that it was oddly quiet, and the third his eyes burning like they’d been doused with hot oil.

They hurt so bad that it took Arthur a few seconds to realize that someone was holding him, his head resting against the person’s chest. He opened his eyes to see who it was, only to be met by darkness and worsening pain. The lack of light sent Arthur into even more of a panic, the arms wrapped around him sending chills down his spine.

So, in a desperate attempt to regain his senses, Arthur threw himself forward, scrambling away from the stranger. _“I can’t-_ ” he began to speak, or at least he thought he was speaking. He’d never experienced such crushing silence. Then it hit him, another wave acidic burning enveloping his eyes. He couldn’t do anything but scream at the overwhelming sensation.

It radiated through his body, the throbbing, singeing sensation. Then, it stopped for a moment, giving Arthur enough time to, once again, register what was happening.

Nothing, there was nothing. No light, no noise. It was as if he’d been dropped mercilessly into an infinite void. He turned his head, desperately searching for something- for anything. But there was nothing.

The firm grip of the stranger returned, on Arthur’s shoulder this time. He shoved it away instinctually and moved back. His mind drifted to Dutch and John, a knot forming in his stomach. Were they dead, was he? Perhaps the void in which he found himself was hell and he was finally getting what he deserved.

His head spun at the thought as he felt himself drift away.

 

****

 

John helped carry Arthur to his tent when he and Dutch finally returned to camp. It’d been a long ride back, the two men steadfast in their silence. What was there to say? They’d failed, not only in retrieving the gold, but also protecting each other. He kept telling himself it was his fault. He’d ran when the Bounty Hunters started shooting, he’d hid. He figured Arthur probably stood his ground, unafraid, while John cowered amongst the machinery.

The grim and worried looks of the other gang members only made him feel worse, everyone demanding answers. Abigail stood by John, wrapping her arm around him. “What happened, John? He looks-”

“Awful?” John finished her sentence for her, breaking out of her embrace. They stood back from the others as they crowded around Arthur.

Abigail met John’s eyes sympathetically. “I’m sure it weren’t your fault.”

“It was.”

The woman lowered her gaze in response. John knew it wasn’t right, the way he brushed her off. It seemed he did a lot of things that weren’t right.

Not being able to stomach the grim atmosphere any further, he made his way to the cliff on the west side of camp. He’d found it was a good place to think. The valley before him stretched out, meeting mountains in the distance. They’d made it this far, yet, somehow, things were still going wrong.

John was sure he’d ever seen Arthur so scared. His injuries looked severe, but John didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about what sort of repercussions could result from his careless judgement. He couldn’t.

So, John just stared at the mountains. The sun was slowly lowering in the sky, a pink glow lighting up the horizon.

Then, there were footsteps. He didn’t bother to looking up, he knew who it was.

Dutch cleared his throat before he began, “People are speculating.”

“Speculating what exactly?” John responded curtly.

“They’re saying that, whatever burned Arthur’s eyes- well, it may have blinded him.”

John didn’t say anything. It wasn’t much of a surprise, he’d figured as much upon getting a closer look. But, that couldn’t be right. Arthur couldn’t be blind. No, John didn’t want him to be. The two men may have had their differences and shared biting remarks, but they were brothers. At least, that’s how John saw them.

Another set of footsteps approached the two, John looked up this time, seeing a defeated Hosea. “He’s still asleep, I’m sure we’ll know more when he wakes up.”

“What more is there to know?” Dutch said fiercely, walking briskly back to camp.

“Don’t mind him,” Hosea said, shifting uncomfortably. “You know, he blames himself, not you.”

John nodded solemnly. Of course Dutch blamed himself, he always did when things went wrong. “I wasn’t thinking. The bounty hunters, they caught me off-guard.”

“I know, son, but there’s nothing we can do to change what happened,” the older man responded. The way Hosea saw everything so clearly always baffled John. But the mans words did nothing to comfort him.

 

****

 

Arthur was awoken, but not as he usually was, with the gentle rise of the sun prompting him to open his eyes. No,this time he was roused by searing misery.

He tried to collect what little he could of himself. The bed beneath him felt familiar, giving him a small hint of relief. Still, it was impossible to calm his nerves. He kept trying, squinting and rubbing his eyes, finding nothing but darkness. His ears stung harshly and he could feel dried blood when he reached to touch them.

The reality of his situation was ever so slowly creeping in, when something clicked in Arthurs head. Dutch and John. Had they died, or were they here with him? A sudden hand on his shoulder seemed to address his thoughts. He flinched in response, breaths quickening.

 _“Who’s there?”_ He tried to say, unsure if his words were clear. Whoever was beside him squeezed his shoulder once more before letting go. Whether the stranger responded or not, he didn’t know, though he desperately wanted to. The gesture felt familiar, but Arthur couldn’t quite place it.

Gritting his teeth through the never-ending pounding in his head , Arthur opened his mouth to speak once more. _“Do I know you?”_ He was hoping for something, anything, to indicate who his company was. But this time there was nothing, not even another squeeze on the shoulder.

It sent Arthur into a panic. Could this be some cruel trick? Had the bounty hunters gotten to him before Dutch or John could? Of course they had, he was sure they were watching him, as helpless as he was, and laughing.

So he stayed where he was, limbs stiff, his heartbeat increasing to a frightening pace. The claustrophobic feeling his lack of senses produced was horrifying. The dark, the silence. Arthur just wanted something more. He knew there was more, that it remained just out of reach.

Then, something happened. Arthur could feel a small hand grab his own. A child? The only one he knew was- _“Jack?”_ He questioned faintly. The child shook his hand eagerly, and Arthur felt a weight lift off his chest. If Jack was with him, then that meant he was back at camp, didn’t it? It meant he was safe.

But his relief didn’t last

Two crushing truths were suddenly the only thing on Arthur’s mind. Familiar panic filled his chest. He was blind. His throat grew tight. He was deaf. Jack’s hand let go of his. _“No!”_ Arthur cried, jerking himself up to a sitting position, clinging tightly to the blanket at his sides. He still couldn’t hear himself, so he shouted again, louder, _“No!”_ Still, nothing. His head was pounding harder than before, fogging his mind even further.

Hands pushed him back roughly.

 _“I can’t- I can’t see, I can’t hear!”_ Arthur exclaimed, letting himself fall back against the bed, whoever was pushing him down stopping as he did.

He so badly wanted to know who was with him, what they were saying. He wanted to know if Dutch and John had made it out of that horrid factory. But he didn’t ask out of fear, doubting he would be able to interpret the response.

Only one thing was clear to him, despite being surrounded by the other gang members, he was alone.


	4. Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF the next chapter should be posted faster than this one.

Dutch had been berated with questions since the moment he and John returned to camp. All anyone wanted to know was what went wrong, how it went wrong, and if Arthur would be okay. He didn’t say much, because there wasn’t much to say. He’d been a fool and now Arthur was paying dearly for it.

So, he sat by the younger man’s side, watching his face twitch as he slept. It reminded him of when Arthur had been younger, often talking and sometimes even walking around in his sleep. Dutch would often wonder what he was dreaming about in such restless state.

Then, suddenly, Arthur’s eyes flickered open.

“Arthur?” Dutch asked hopefully, to no response. The man’s eyes barely moved and his breathing grew tense. Not wanting to see him so afraid, Dutch placed a hand on his shoulder. Arthur flinched under his touch.

“Who’s there?” Arthur said, voice shaky.

“Arthur, it’s me, it’s Dutch,” he pleaded, but Arthur looked no less horrified. Dutch just wanted him to say something- anything to tell him what was wrong. So, he squeezed his shoulder tighter, letting go when the gesture had no effect.

“Do I know you?” Arthur asked, his words shattering any hope Dutch had that his injuries were mild. Dutch felt like a fool for hoping like that, but it was his nature. He was always hoping and wishing for something better. A place for his family, where they could be safe and carefree. But those hopes didn’t matter to him much as he stared down at the scared and confused man he’d raised as his son. The man that didn’t know Dutch was there for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dutch spotted an overwhelmed Abigail chasing Jack through the camp. “I told ya, he ain't well, Jack! Let him rest,” she said breathlessly. The young boy Ignored her, racing towards Dutch and Arthur at a determined pace.

“I want to see Uncle Arthur!” Jack exclaimed, coming up beside Arthur and grabbing his hand before Dutch could do anything to stop him. The boy’s hopeful demeanor slipped away as soon as he saw the state the older man was in.

Something flickered through Arthur’s face, as if he was finally having a moment of clarity. “Jack?”

The boy managed a weak smile in response. “Uncle Arthur, are you-”

Before Jack could finish his question, Arthur shot up to a sitting position and cried out wildly, “No!”

The sudden volume of his voice alone was enough to scare Jack, the boy backing away quickly into his mother’s arms. “No!” Arthur exclaimed once more. Dutch hurried to his side and roughly pushed him back down in an attempt to stop the outburst, regretting it when the other man visibly winced.

“I can’t see, I can’t hear!” Arthur screamed, prompting Dutch to pull his hands off of him.

It wasn’t a new sensation for Dutch, feeling so overwhelmed and afraid, but it had never affected him as much as it did in that moment. Everything he’d hoped to be mere morbid speculation by the other gang members was true. There was no denying it, Arthur had said it himself.

“Why is he yelling?” Jack shouted, cowering behind his mother.

Abigail ushered him away with haste. “I told you to leave him alone! Why don’t you listen to me?”

The others in camp took note of Arthur’s outburst, none of them seeming sure of how they should react. “Arthur, I-” Dutch stopped himself. What was the use if he wasn’t being heard?

He spotted Hosea approaching and tensed. The older man held a grim expression, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “He needs a doctor.”

Dutch nodded vacantly. He doubted a doctor would be able to help, especially given the lack of information regarding the accident, but he kept quiet. He would gladly take any hope he could that Arthur could get better- that he would.

 

****

 

Arthur’s panicked cries were loud enough to snap John out of his brooding state. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. So, he leapt to his feet, jogging towards the sound.

Everyone in camp was staring towards Arthur’s tent, Dutch beside him, emotions unreadable. Abigail caught John’s eye as she hurried away from the scene.

“Abigail, wait. What happened?”

She wiped a tear John hadn’t seen off her cheek, gaze distant. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

John watched her walk away in somber shock, it took a lot to make that woman cry. His eyes drifted back to Arthur and Dutch. It was about time he faced his friend, his brother, and apologized.

But it didn’t look like he would be able to.

“Did you hear?” Dutch asked hoarsely when he caught sight of the younger man.

John shook his head, looking to Arthur expectantly, as if he would tell John himself. Of course, he didn’t. His eyes still looked pink and sore, the blood having not been wiped away from his ears.

Dutch wouldn’t meet John’s gaze as he spoke, “He woke up and I tried to let him know I was here, but-” John feared he knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. “-He couldn’t see me. He couldn’t hear me, John.” Dutch buried his face in his hands, unable to bear his own words.

All John could manage was an empty nod. “I- I understand.”

“Hosea and I are taking him to a doctor in town tomorrow, if you’d like to come.”

“I’ll think about it,” John stammered, seeing Arthur move in the corner of his vision. The man was sat up slightly, his face twisted into a look of desperate confusion. “Arthur?”

He didn’t reply, his frown deepening. “Arthur, please-” John insisted, reaching out to touch his arm. Arthur didn’t flinch away this time, instead turning his head towards John’s general direction.

Arthur parted his lips to speak, “John-” for a flicker of a moment, it spurred the younger man’s hope. The hope that Arthur might have recognized him, but that hope didn’t last. “Where’s John- where’s Dutch? Are they alri-” the man was cut off by a coughing fit and Dutch leaned forward, placing his hand next to John’s.

“We’re right here, son, we’re right here.”

Despite being unable to hear his words, Arthur seemed to be put at ease by Dutch’s touch. John wasn’t sure if it was because he’d realised that it was them by his side, or if it was just the thought of people being there for him. Whatever the reason, it was nice to see Arthur look something other than terrified.

Guilt overpowered John’s stubborn need to distance himself from his problems. “I’ll go,” he said. Dutch looked up questioningly. “I’ll go with you and Hosea tomorrow.”

“I’m glad.” The older man smiled as he spoke.

John was relieved. He’d figured Dutch would be more hostile towards him after what had happened at the factory. Maybe Hosea was right, maybe Dutch was too busy blaming himself to be angry.

Arthur didn’t say any more, opting to lay back down. John hoped his injuries didn’t hurt as bad as they looked, but he had no way of really knowing. It was frustrating, having such a lack of communication. John winced at the thought. If it was so frustrating for him, he couldn’t imagine what Arthur was going through.


	5. Dark

Arthur didn’t usually remember his dreams, but it was hard not to when there was nothing else. His waking world was a void, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been that way. Only two or three days, he thought, but it could have been more based how slowly time seemed to pass.

The last thing he remembered before falling back into unconsciousness were two hands resting on his arm. He’d asked about John and Dutch, if they were ok, and the gesture was enough of an answer for him. It was two different people, two different hands, they were with him. They weren’t dead.

So, he’d drifted off, that single comforting thought guiding him to rest. Then, with a suddenly overwhelming brightness, he could see again. What he was seeing remained unclear for some time while his eyes adjusted, but it eventually came into focus.

Arthur didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. What a cruel trick it was, that the first things he saw were the tombstones of his long- dead wisp of a family.

Nothing except their names were carved into the hastily-built crosses. Eliza and Isaac. The very thought of that part of his past made Arthur feel sick. Sick with guilt and regret. He could have done so much more- but he didn’t.

The grass surrounding the crosses was a lifeless green, but Arthur couldn’t make out anything further. White mist surrounded him with a soupy consistency.

_“You didn’t love them,”_ a familiar voice whispered from somewhere inside the mist. Arthur spun around, unable to pinpoint where it was coming from. _“Just like I didn’t love you.”_

It was only when he realized who it was that she appeared to him, brown hair hanging loosely at her shoulders. “Mary,” he whispered, meeting her cold gaze. “That’s- that’s not true.”

_“You let them die, you probably would’ve let me die too. My father was right about you.”_

He knew it was a dream, he knew it wasn’t real, so why did her words hurt so much? “Shut up.”

_“You’re not a man, only a coward.”_

“Shut up!” Arthur cried out, throwing his fist towards the mocking apparition. She disappeared before he could make contact, causing him to stumble forward. “That’s not true, I loved them! I just couldn’t be there when they needed me most.” He sunk to his knees as he spoke, feeling hollow.

_“I bet they prayed before they died, hoping you’d save them.”_

Unable to come up with a response, his throat feeling tight, Arthur hid his face in his hands.

_“Poor Isaac, how you have the nerve to judge John after what you did, I will never know. At least his son is still alive.”_ He couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand her cruel words any longer, but she kept talking. _“A man like you doesn’t deserve to have a family.”_

Arthur placed his hands firmly over his ears and lowered himself further to the ground.

_“A man like you deserves to be alone.”_

 

****

 

Dutch felt conflicted about waking Arthur from his seemingly peaceful sleep, but Hosea had insisted on taking him to a doctor as soon as they could, so he had no choice.

“Arthur”, he said out of instinct, reaching towards the man and jostling him gently. Arthur opened his eyes forcefully and gaped for air. Dutch grimaced.

Through Arthur’s hasty gasps, Dutch thought he heard him say something, something he hadn’t heard the man say in years.

“Eliza.”

Arthur’s eyes were glistening with tears as he said her name, then another, “Isaac.”

Hosea, who had silently crept up behind Dutch, placed a hand on his shoulder. “He probably had a bad dream.”

Dutch had no trouble reaching that conclusion on his own, but the twisting of his stomach held him back from saying it. Hearing Arthur say their names brought everything from that horrible day crashing back into Dutch’s mind. How terribly lost and empty Arthur had seemed for months after learning of their deaths, how he was nearly driven crazy with guilt.

So the two men stood there in silence, waiting for Arthur to catch his breath. Once he did, Hosea reached his hand towards Arthur’s arm, carefully urging him to get up. He did, after attempting to wipe the tears from his eyes. Dutch shot Hosea a troubled look.

“What’s happening?” Arthur asked.

Unable to come up with a better way of letting him know, Dutch took hold of his arm and began leading him through camp to the horses. Arthur stumbled over his feet as they walked and the women eyed them with worry.

“Good luck boys,” Karen said, eyes tired.

Dutch nodded curtly. They’d finally reached the horses, John stood waiting for them. “So, how’re we doing this?” He prodded.

“Arthur’s riding with me, you two can lead the way. We’ll be taking it slow,” Dutch said, guiding Arthur’s hand to meet The Count’s coat. His lips formed a faint smile as he pet the horse.

Dutch pushed himself up, positioning his feet firmly in the stirrups and reaching towards Arthur. It was only then that he considered how confusing this may be for him, after all, he still didn’t know where they were taking him.

Hosea, seeing Dutch’s hesitation, came to Arthur’s side. Dutch leaned down and pulled Arthur up with Hosea’s help, positioning him on the back of The Count.

“He’s calm,” John remarked when Arthur had little reaction to being moved so suddenly. It was unusual, but Dutch payed it no mind. The younger man tried to balance himself, wrapping his arms around Dutch’s chest.

The other two men mounted their horses with haste, Hosea taking the lead out of camp.

 

****

 

Arthur felt like a fool. It wasn’t like him to cry, or to be so weak. But his dream had felt so real- so vivid, that he couldn’t help himself. At least not being able to see who woke him up made the whole thing a little less embarrassing.

He’d walked compliantly to wherever they were leading him, trying his best to clear the painful memory from his mind

_Eliza._

_Isaac._

He forced the thoughts down. It was in the past, it was over. Whoever was leading him stopped, raising his hand with their own to touch something soft. It was horse, of course. Arthur couldn’t help but grin and wonder why his guide led him to the animal. Was it to make him feel better? Arthur had always held a fondness for horses.

Then, two hands were pulling him up, another pair pushing him from his waist. As startling as it was, he found himself unbothered.

But, as it turned out, balancing on a horse without sight wasn’t an easy task. Lurching to the side, Arthur grasped for the closest thing he could; whoever had lifted him onto the horse. They didn’t seem to mind.

Arthur enjoyed the wind brushing against his face as they traveled, the smell of pine permeating through the air. He wasn’t sure where they were riding, but he didn’t really care. It was nice being back in, or rather behind, the saddle. He probably looked ridiculous, leaning against the man in front of him.

He was finally beginning to relax when, suddenly, he wasn’t leaning against anyone. The horse beneath him began to cantar as he was flung backwards, head hitting something hard as he made contact with the ground. For a moment he forgot everything that happened prior, head spinning in an inky black expanse.

Rough hands grabbed at his arms, dragging him backwards. He strained against them, but it was no use, his energy quickly diminishing. He was held down, arms pinned behind his back, when something snapped around his wrists. _Handcuffs._


	6. Dim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter made me depressi.

John clung to his horse as another gunshot whirred through the dusty air. He couldn’t make out where the bullets were coming from, turning back to see if Arthur and Dutch were ok. Neither of them were there, the only person in sight being Hosea, who crouched behind a boulder.

“Get over here!” The man called out.

John lept to the ground, staying low and unholstering his gun. He was about to ask Hosea where Dutch and Arthur were when he spotted them. Dutch laid on his side, unmoving, while Arthur was being dragged away- by who, John didn’t know.

One of the attacking men rushed to Dutch, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. They were lawmen, of course they were. They’d probably caught word that the Van Der Linde gang was in the area.

Hosea acted quicker than John, aiming his rifle and firing a bullet through the lawman’s forehead.

But it was no use, more and more were showing up. John didn’t want to run again, he didn’t want to be a coward, but there was nothing more he or Hosea could do. “They’ll take em into town,” John said roughly. “We can break em out then, we don’t stand a chance here.”

Hosea gave the scene another once-over before giving a curt nod. John led the way, crouching low as he ran through the trees. He could hear Hosea’s feet crunching the dry leaves that scattred the forest floor, but he didn’t dare look back. The law could’ve still been tailing them.

When he felt like he couldn’t push himself any further, John collapsed against the trunk of a tree. A sputtering cough ripped it’s way through his throat.

“Damnit!” Hosea shouted, easing to a stop. “Damn, those bastards.”

It was a rare occurrence, seeing the older man so overwhelmed with anger. John couldn’t say he was feeling any different. He wondered what they would do with Arthur and Dutch, surely they’d just keep Arthur locked away. They couldn’t- John stopped himself from pondering any further. There wasn’t any time for reflection, only focusing on getting the other half of their family back.

 

****

 

How long he’d been tied stuck on the back of, what he assumed to be a horse, Arthur didn’t know. He didn’t know much except that he’d gotten himself into quite the predicament, being arrested-or maybe even kidnapped, when he was in such a helpless state.

His head hurt more than usual and cuffs dug into his wrists. It must have been a few hours since they’d been ambushed, and Arthur didn’t know if the man he’d been riding with was dead, or was suffering the same fate as himself.

Two hands were grasping at his tied legs, pulling him to the ground. His head was unsupported, hitting the dirt hard. Arthur was sure he whimpered at the shooting pain, but whoever was dragging him by his ankles didn’t seem to care.

When his legs were finally left to hit the ground, Arthur’s mouth went dry. This couldn’t be standard procedure when it came to the law.

Someone cut the rope from his ankles and someone else grabbed him by his collar, hoisting him to his feet. Arthur didn’t bother fighting back. There was no use, he was sure his captors had their guns ready in case he tried anything.

He didn’t cry out when, whoever was holding him up, shook him roughly before slamming their fist against his jaw. He didn’t do anything but wince when they spit in his face and cracked something hard against his ribs.

Maybe they were asking him questions, ones Arthur didn’t hear. He couldn’t and it wasn’t his fault, but they didn’t stop. They didn’t stop punching and kicking and spitting until Arthur couldn’t take it any longer.

He kicked out desperately, making contact with someone as he did. Arms wrapped around his chest, restraining him from moving any further. He felt like a fool for even trying. He was sure they were laughing at him, making a mockery of his futile attempt to fight back.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do as he was simultaneously dragged and pushed forward, his feet barely keeping up the the pace, a growing sense of dread forming in his chest. The ground beneath him didn’t feel anything like the streets of Valentine and he couldn’t help but speculate as to what was planned for him.

But he didn’t have to speculate for long.

Arthur felt something slide over his head, settling on his shoulders and rubbing against his neck. He recognized the feeling immediately.

A _noose._

They weren’t, they couldn’t- he thought, his heart beat speeding to a dangerous pace. _“You don’t understand, I-”_ he began, cut off by another violent blow to his face.

It was no use, he decided, they didn’t care that he was blind or deaf. Why would they? To them, he was nothing but a low-down outlaw that they were tasked with getting rid of. He wasn’t somebody’s son, brother, or father. In that moment, he was nothing at all.

The noose grew tighter around his neck and he realized why the ground beneath his feet felt so strange. He was at the gallows, the platform beneath him ready to collapse and greet him with death.

He wondered what Dutch and Hosea would think, seeing him like that. He was glad they weren’t there. It was hard enough for him to come to terms with it, he couldn’t think about the other’s sorrow too.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh. It wasn’t how he wanted to die, but what would his life be without watching the sun set over the valley, or a bird’s song waking him in the morning? It would be lonely, it would be-

The ground beneath him gave way.

He should have died then, his neck should have snapped like a twig, but it didn’t.

His body hung, legs thrashing as he desperately gasped for air. All thoughts disappeared from his mind except one; _he didn’t want to die._ _He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to die._

He wanted to scream, pulling against the handcuffs that bound him. He didn’t care if he couldn’t hear, or if he never saw the world again, if he looked like a fool, he just wanted to live.

Then he heard something. It was faint and he could barely make it out- but he heard it. A high-pitched whistling noise. Then he was free.

His face hit what he presumed to be mud, but it was a welcome feeling. Arms soon linked under his, hoisting him to his feet. Whoever it was loosened the noose that still pressed against his neck.

Panicking, Arthur swung his fist haphazardly at them, making contact with what he thought was their face. They let go of him in response, but only for a moment, their hands clasping around his wrists tightly. Arthur tried to push away again, the only thing on his mind being escape. He just need to escape, and everything would be fine.

But the hands kept restraining him, almost as if they were trying to calm him down, when Arthur felt something on one of the hands’ fingers. _Rings_. There were two distinct rings.

 _“Dutch?”_ He said hesitantly, hoping and praying to everything he could that his suspicions were correct.

Warm arms reached around his back, locking him into an embrace. It was Dutch. He’d been there- he’d come for him. Arthur felt his panic begin to dissapate, replaced only with relief. He wasn’t alone, and he was going to live.


	7. Light

Vision blurry from being hit over the head, Dutch was pulled off the horse unceremoniously. The bullet wound in his side still stung. The pain kept him from registering what the lawmen beside him were doing, who they were dragging ahead of him. They’d stopped in an abandoned town that Dutch had stumbled across a few times but never bothered to learn the name of. The muted atmosphere it kept was unsettling, to say the least.

Eventually, Dutch saw him- Arthur. He looked horrified, and Dutch understood why. One of the lawmen held him by his collar, shaking him relentlessly and yelling, “You may be blind, but ya got ears don’t ya? Answer the damn question!”

“Leave him alone!” Dutch said, wincing at another shot of pain in his side. The man who held Arthur stared him down ruthlessly in response.

“Your buddy here isn’t talkin, Mr. Van Der Linde. Perhaps you’d prefer me to ask a different way?”

Before Dutch had time to respond, the man hit Arthur’s jaw with a crack. “Is that better?” He asked with a grin, spitting at Arthur’s face.

“The bastard still isn’t talking,” another sheriff said, stepping forward. He lifted his gun in the air, swinging it down against Arthur’s ribs. Dutch fought against those holding him back and the handcuffs that bound him in an attempt to stop the onslaught.

He shuddered with rage as he was forced to watch Arthur struggle to defend himself, only to be pushed violently forward towards a nuse. “He can’t hear you, please, stop! This isn’t-”

“Fair? That’s funny, Mr. Van Der Linde, that you should decide what’s fair,” the sheriff who’d cracked his gun against Arthur’s ribs said. “Was it fair of you to murder that poor girl on the ferry? I read about it in the papers, you see, that didn’t sound fair to me.”

Dutch barely heard the man’s words, catching sight of Arthur standing at the old gallows with a rope around his neck.

Arthur began to plead, only to be cut of by another hit to the face. Despite the distance, Dutch swore he could see tears streaming from his eyes. What hurt him more than seeing Arthur so scared, was the knowledge that he didn’t know Dutch was there.

“Why are you doing this? I’ve done far worse than he has,” Dutch spat furiously at the sheriff.

“I find it odd, the people you choose to pity,” the man replied before turning back to the men positioned at Arthur’s side. “Hang him!”

Dutch had little time to protest as the board beneath Arthur’s feet collapsed. For a moment, the whole world seemed to fall away. He couldn’t see anything but the hanging form of the man he’d raised as his son.

He didn’t make a move as Arthur’s legs kicked wildly in the air, rendered useless by his own shocking grief. None of it felt real, but it was too clear to be a dream.

Then, a shot rang out, then another. The second somehow found its way through the rope that held up Arthur, sending him sprawling into the mud below the gallows. The guards on either side of Dutch lept into cover before catching a few bullets themselves.

Dutch spun around, coming face to face with John and Hosea as they barreled out of the trees towards him. “Go, get Arthur!” John shouted, firing a few more shots at the last lawmen left standing before quickly freeing Dutch from his handcuffs and handing him a lockpick.

The older man did as he said without hesitation, running to Arthur’s side and hastily removing his restraints. He was still face-down in the mud, so Dutch hoisted him to his feet with what little strength he had. Arthur didn’t take kindly to the gesture, swinging his fist against Dutch’s face with surprising force. “Whoa, son, calm down,” he said, grabbing Arthur’s wrists. He knew his words were futile, but he couldn’t stop himself. “It’s me, It’s Dutch. You’re going to be just fine, you just have to-”

Arthur’s expression turned from one of fear, to one of recognition as he grasped at Dutch’s hand. “Dutch?” he asked, barely audible. The older man smiled and wrapped his arms around Arthur, locking him into a comforting embrace.

“It’s me, son, it’s me.”

 

****

 

If it weren’t for the adrenaline rushing through John’s veins, he would have been exhausted. Hosea and him had been tracking the lawmen for a little under a days travel before they finally stopped in an abandoned town.

By the time they’d made to a clear vantage point, Arthur was standing under the gallows. The sight made John’s stomach twist violently. He needed to act fast. Grabbing his rifle, he leapt from his horse without saying a word to Hosea, who’d also seen the gravity of Arthur’s situation.

When John was halfway down the hill, Arthur had a rope around his neck. When he finally burst through the trees into the clearing, Arthur was hanging. There were a few seconds in which he thought he was too late, that he’d failed again.

But, by sheer luck, he was mistaken. Arthur thrashed his legs violently against the suffocating pull of the rope. That struggle to cling to life gave John the little time he needed to aim his rifle and fire. He missed his first shot, the rope swaying to the left, but the second hit it’s target- sending Arthur falling to the safety of the ground below.

Then John caught sight of Dutch, who stood frozen in his place- blood staining his shirt. “Go get Arthur,” he yelled, shooting any lawmen Hosea hadn’t already taken out. It was only then that he noticed Dutch’s restraints. He got them off as best he could, handing the older man the lockpick when he was done and turned to Hosea.

“Was that the last of em?” He asked.

Hosea nodded slowly, trying hard to catch his breath. “There were more than I thought, I’m surprised we took them out so fast.”

John couldn’t help but smirk. “They weren’t expecting us.”

“John, Hosea, get over here!” Dutch called out from the gallows. The urgency in his voice scared John, but, from the looks of it, Arthur was alive. Bloody and bruised- but alive, and that was all John needed. The older man continued once he had their attention, “We need to get out of here before more show up. John, you take Arthur. I’ll ride with Hosea.”

“Alright, Dutch,” the younger man said firmly, reaching out to support Arthur on their walk back to the horses. John took note of how Arthur kept his eyes closed, wincing after each step he took.

Dutch didn’t say too much about what had happened, and Hosea and John didn’t pry. It was their fault, John thought bitterly. None of it would have happened if they hadn’t taken so damn long.

Once they made it back to the horses, Hosea helped John hoist Arthur onto his horse. John was slightly unnerved by how calm Arthur seemed to be. He clung loosely to John’s waist as they road, eyes staring intently into space- like he was thinking hard about something.

“We still planning on taking him to the doctor?” Hosea asked, breaking the silence.

Dutch shifted uneasily behind him. “We can’t. It’s too risky now, especially with the mess we just made.”

John could tell it was a tough call for the older man to make. Arthur had been beat and hung, on top of everything else. The first thing he needed was a doctor, but Dutch was right. If they took Arthur into town they’d only risk getting caught up with the law again. Hosea simply shook his head, keeping whatever opposition he had to himself.

In the midst of the grim realization, Arthur tightened his grip around John, straining forward. “What is it?” John said instinctively, feeling like an idiot when Dutch shot him a questioning glance.

“John?” Arthur asked, barely audible.

It was odd, how a single word could hold so much weight. John swallowed tensely before responding, “Yeah, Arthur. It’s me.”

Hosea, taking note of the situation, brought his horse to a stop in front of John’s. Dutch eyed Arthur carefully, hand still holding his blood-stained side.

Arthur spoke up once more, his voice nothing more than a strained whisper, “I- I can hear you.”


	8. Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, finally, another chapter! Sorry to everyone who's been waiting. I've been super stressed out about upcoming performances and rehearsals, but that should be over soon. The next chapter will be posted way faster.

It started with the whistling of a bullet, the one Arthur heard seconds before being freed from the tightening noose around his neck. Then, a muffled cry somewhere nearby. The person who had freed Arthur from his restraints, Dutch, led him forward cautiously. Arthur didn’t focus on much of anything as someone else took Dutch’s place, or as he was helped onto a horse. None of it seemed to matter except that he was alive, not hanging lifelessly as the buzzards pecked away at his flesh.

That was, until he heard something else. Someone’s voice- barely audible, yet oddly distinct. He swore it originated from somewhere in front of him. So he tightened his hold on the other man on the horse, leaning forward.

He heard the voice again, clearer than before. “What is it?”

If he hadn’t felt so incredibly weak, Arthur would have smiled. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “John?” He asked, taken aback by the sound of his own voice and the way his throat burned in protest.

The long silence that followed made Arthur question if he was really hearing things, or just losing his mind. But, eventually, there came a response; “Yeah, Arthur. It’s me.”

Arthur hadn’t felt as much relief as he did in that moment in a long while. His friend, his brother, had been there the whole time. He and Dutch were safe. They were all safe. The crushing relief of it all was so much to take in that Arthur nearly forgot that the other men were most likely watching him, waiting for something more. So, he pushed through the burning in his throat to exclaim, “I- I can hear you.”

The quiet whistling of the wind that followed wasn’t exactly comforting, but John spoke up soon enough; “You can? Well, shit!”

“You have no Idea how worried we’ve all been Arthur,” Dutch added roughly. “I wasn’t- we weren’t sure what to do so, Hosea and I-”

“Don’t worry him with the details now, he’s been through a lot.” Hosea spoke up from somewhere nearby, startling Arthur. He hadn’t been aware of the older man’s presence, but it was a welcome surprise. He was right. As much as Arthur wanted to know what truly happened, his mind was still bogged down by the memory of the rope around his neck- how close he’d been to death. It pained him just to think about it.

For the time being, Arthur was content to focus on the sound of rustling leaves above his head.

 

~~~~

 

For Dutch, bringing Arthur back to camp, not only alive- but getting better, was more than he could have hoped for. When he’d seen Arthur fall, the rope tightening, he thought he’d lost one of the best men he’d ever known. Thankfully, he’d been wrong.

Arthur was greeted with warm embraces and welcoming cheers as John helped him down from his horse. Dutch could see Hosea smiling widely as he dismounted his horse as well. “I’d call that a success!” The older man chimed.

“If you consider me being shot and Arthur being hanged a ‘success’, sure, it was a big one!” Dutch replied dryly. As much as his spirits had been lifted, he was in no mood for celebrating. Maybe it was because Arthur still wasn’t completely healed. Sure, his hearing had repaired itself, but his eyes were still red and blistering. He was still _blind._

An obnoxiously loud cheer from the crowd snapped Dutch’s attention back to Arthur, who was looking overwhelmed amongst the group. “I’m glad you’re all happy to see us back,” Dutch spoke up, “but Arthur has been through a lot and I’m sure he’d like to have a little peace. Will you all, please, get back to work?”

There were a few mumbled protests as everyone moved back to their tasks, the only people remaining by Arthur’s side being John, Hosea, and Charles. “I’m happy to learn that your hearing’s recovered, Arthur. It’s good to have you back,” Charles said, placing a careful hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“I’m not back… quite yet,” Arthur replied, nearly choking on his words.

Dutch hurried forward, taking Arthur by the arm as Charles looked on with solomon understanding. “Let me help you back to your tent, son, you need to rest.”

Arthur managed a faint smile. “Al- alright, Dutch.”

 

~~~~

 

The day’s following Arthur’s return to camp were, for the most part, a blur. Every now and then he’d hear someone walk by his tent, sometimes greeting him- sometimes not. He’d tasked himself with trying to distinguish who was who. So far he only had the sound Dutch, Hosea, and John’s footsteps differentiated. Maybe because they were the ones checking on him the most.

Arthur tried not to worry about his lack of sight, instead focusing on the sense he’d gained back. It was amazing how happy he was to hear everyone again, even Reverend Swanson’s scratchy intonation made him smile.

“Arthur?” A quiet, indistinguishable voice uttered from somewhere nearby. It set Arthur on edge.

“Who’s there?”

His question was met with the crunching of leaves under someone’s feet as they got closer. “You still can’t see me, Uncle Arthur?”

It was Jack, of course. Arthur hadn’t thought much about the boy since their last encounter. But, upon remembering how he’d acted, a pang of concern flared up inside him. He hoped he hadn’t scared the boy too much. “I can’t. I can hear ya though, loud and clear.”

“That’s good, ‘cause I’m supposed to tell you something. Mister Strauss sent me.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of that. Strauss kept to himself most of the time, so it was surprising to hear he was sending any kind of message, especially through Jack.

The boy continued; “He said not to worry about the loans, whatever that means. Said that Micah was going to do it.”

 _Micah._ Just the sound of the grimy man’s name made Arthur cringe. He, thankfully, hadn’t talked to him since his return to camp. He doubted he’d have anything even encouraging to say given Arthur’s circumstance. Still, it relieved Arthur to hear someone else had stepped up to take care of that nasty business Strauss tied himself up in. That was one job he was more than happy to lose.

“Thanks for letting me know, kid.”

“Sure, Uncle Arthur!” Jack chimed enthusiastically.

Arthur found himself silently hoping that Jack would stay this way forever, blissfully unaware of the dangerous world that enveloped him, but he knew that could only ever be a hope. Nothing stayed the same with the life they lived.

“Come on Jack, what did I say about bothering him?” Abigail called out from somewhere close.

“Sorry mama!” Jack said with a childish laugh. “I’ll talk to you later, Uncle Arthur.”

“What was he saying to you, nothing too annoying, I hope?” Abigail said.

Arthur shook his head and propped himself up. “It was nothing much.” There was no need to get into the logistics of Strauss’s operation with Miss Roberts. “It’s ok to let the kid be independent, with the way he’s growing up.

“Maybe so, but that don’t mean he gets to intrude on everyone’s personal space. Anyways, sorry to bother you. Have a good day now, Arthur.”

“You too, Abigail.”

Long after the two were gone, when camp had grown quiet with everyone presumably out doing one thing or the other, Arthur decided he’d try something. Something he’d been aching to do for awhile, to go for a walk.

Swinging his legs over the side of his creaky bed, Arthur struggled to rise to his feet. His muscles ached from lack of use, and he was sure they’d been well-bruised by the beating the lawmen had given him, but he pushed through it with gritted teeth. The smell of pine drifting through the air was a calming encouragement to keep going. It was simple.

He needed to keep going.


	9. Wrong

Maybe going for a walk hadn’t been such a good Idea. Of course, Arthur never imagined it’d be easy, trying to get around without having a sense of anything but the ground beneath his feet.

He’d gotten to the edge of camp, he thought, without being stopped by anyone. He hoped no one was watching him stumble around, his arms outstretched to feel for any obstacles in his way.

He kept wondering if he should turn back, but with each step the urge to continue forward grew stronger. He had no particular destination in mind. Maybe he’d go down to the river, or out to the road that winded towards Valentine, then he’d head back. He had time, he could tell by the way the sun warmed his shoulders.

The ground beneath Arthur’s feet sloped downwards suddenly and he struggled to maintain his balance. He must have been headed to the river, he assumed, knowing it was only a few minute's walk away. His assumption was confirmed as the sound of rushing water grew louder with every shakey step he took. He took a seat on a boulder he stumbled into when he thought he was close enough, listening to the current rush it’s way to the open sea.

“Arthur,” someone whispered from behind him. He barely had a chance to react before whoever it was pushed him forward, sending him sprawling on his hands and knees. Then the person laughed, it sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“You shoulda seen the look on your face, Morgan! What, did ya think you were gonna get taken again?” It was _Micah._ Of course it was. Arthur grimaced, propping himself onto his knees and brushing the pebbles off his hands.

“Is this your idea of a joke?”

“No, this is more my style,”

Whatever Micah’s ‘style’ was, Arthur didn’t expect the way he grabbed the back of his collar, dragging him forward, the sound of rushing water drowning out anything else the man said. Then, Arthur felt cold- cold enough to not realize his head was submerged in the rushing current. He opened his mouth to scream, water filling his lungs.

He was going to die, the rope- no, Micah was going to kill him. He struggled to get away but it was like all the strength had been zapped from his muscles. The cold, unrelenting flow of the water felt like an ice pick hammering into his skull. He was certain he couldn’t take much more when, like an answer to an unspoken prayer, he was lifted back up, falling against the rocky shore.

Micah was laughing again. “Now, Morgan, that was priceless!”

Arthur was still choking on water, desperately coughing and wheezing. “Don’t know how to take a joke, I see,” Micah mocked. “It was fun talking to ya pal, but I’ll have to catch you later. I got a job to do, ya see?”

“I-” Arthur started, cut off by another coughing fit.

“Ah, sorry, I forgot. You can’t _see.”_

If he hadn’t been so incapable, Arthur would have shot the fool then and there, but there was no pistol at his side. No way to aim, all because he was a goddamn idiot. Because he hadn’t trusted his instincts, because he’d listened to- no, it wasn’t Dutch’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“Looking angry there, cowpoke. I’ll leave ya to it,” Micah said. Arthur barely heard him as he left, too focused on his own labored breathing to care.

He just needed to rest, just needed to sleep. He couldn’t stand staring into that lonely, black void any longer. So, he allowed his eyes to roll back into his skull, allowed himself to fall backwards.

 

~~~~

 

_“You never fail to disappoint me.”_

Arthur blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the bright, white fog that drifted around him. That voice- he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Not since-

_“Since I died? It was a relief for you, wasn’t it, to have me gone?”_

Arthur didn’t want to turn around. It was just a dream, he knew that, but it didn’t change the way that voice made his skin crawl.

_“Come on, boy. Face me like a man.”_

Those words were familiar, always said before- well, none of that mattered. It was in the past. “No,” Arthur said coldly, closing his eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, old man.”

 

~~~~

 

When Arthur woke up he was cold- frigid air whipping against his face. He figured he’d been out for awhile, given such a drastic change in temperature. The cold wasn’t what troubled him the most, at least for the time being, he was more concerned with how he’d manage to get back to camp.

The rushing of water wasn’t as loud, buffered by the chilling breeze. Still, Arthur had a vague idea of where the river was. It couldn’t have been far, but just to be safe, he opted to crawl away from the pebbled shore until he felt he was far enough away to stand without the risk of falling in.

“Come on,” he whispered inaudibly to himself as he reached his hands forward into the dark. He just needed to get to and up the slope and camp would be to his right, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

Arthur could hear the sound of crickets chirping as he stumbled his way up the river bank, he must’ve been out for half the day at least. He felt a sting of resentment when he thought about how nobody had found him- despite him being so close to camp. It was childish, he knew. They probably weren’t even looking.

The wind tugged harshly at his bare arms as Arthur struggled to stay on his feet, his thin shirt doing nothing to shield him from the cold. So, feeling a little desperate, he called out; “Anyone here, It’s Arthur!” If there was any response, it was drowned out by staggered gusts of cool air.

He was trying his best to push through it, but with every step he took, Arthur’s limbs grew more shaky. He tried to flex his fingers, but they didn’t move. He was just so _, so- cold._

Far too rigid to move any further, Arthur sunk to the ground, his hands finding the trunk of a nearby tree. He leaned against it, the wind lessening as he did so. He’d be alright, he told himself. He just needed to rest for awhile.

He just needed to clear his head- that was all. He was just tired. He just needed to _rest._

But he couldn’t rest, not with that light shining in his eyes. That- _light._ Arthur did his best to smile, the corners of his mouth barely twitching upwards. There was a light, somewhere far away, and he could see it.


	10. The Way It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, at least for this story! I'm a slow writer, so I apologize for how long it took me to finish this thing, but here it is. I plan on writing more soon, so stayed tuned if you're interested!

Dutch was starting to get worried. “Did you see him or _not?_ ” He asked, his voice quivering with anger.

Micah stared back with little concern. “I don’t really remember seeing him. I was out collecting debts for, uh- Strauss.” His tone was anything but honest, but Dutch didn’t have time to question him any further. He needed to find Arthur, and with the sun hanging low in the sky, he needed to find him fast.

“Dutch, there you are!” John called out, emerging from behind his tent. “I just came back from hunting and I heard-” he cut his sentence short, catching sight of Micah. “Did you have something to do with it?” John asked coldly.

Micah shook his head and chuckled, turning to walk back into the trees. “If I see him, I’ll tell you boys. Don’t you worry.”

Dutch let him go reluctantly, bracing a hand against John’s chest to stop him from starting something.

It was hard to imagine- that Arthur could have stumbled out of camp by himself without anyone noticing. But it was even harder to imagine a group of any kind sneaking into camp and taking him away without making a scene. Dutch let out a frustrated sigh and looked to the different edges of camp. “We have to find him. John, you come with me.” The younger man nodded, whistling his horse over. Dutch did the same.

“We’re looking for anything. Footprints, clothes, blood- anything.” The older man announced as they passed under the pines. It didn’t help that they were losing light fast, each minute the silhouette of a bush and that of a man becoming harder to distinguish.

They were getting close to the river, Dutch trying not to think of the worst. They’d find him, they had to. Arthur wasn’t stupid, despite his insisting, he couldn’t have gone far.

“Dutch, get over here!” John called out, standing close to the rushing current. He was holding something in his hands.

Dutch swung his legs off The Count fast, jogging to John’s side. “What is it?” He asked breathlessly. The younger man was holding what looked to be a black cloth of some sort.

“I think it’s Arthur’s bandanna.”

Dutch’s heart sank in his chest and he looked to the rapids. John placed a hand on his shoulder, like he knew what the older man was thinking. “He’s fine. You know him, he’s- strong.”

John was right, Dutch thought, but he’d seen strong men fall before- after suffering far less. “Let’s just keep looking,” he said without turning to look at the younger man.

 

~~~~

 

They looked for a long while, the sun completely disappearing behind the mountains. It was cold and John could see little, even with the moon lighting up the sky. “Arthur!” He shouted hopelessly into the dark.

A few others, Charles and Bill, had joined the search, but Arthur was still nowhere to be found. They were spread out over the area surrounding camp and John was beginning to lose hope. Every time he called out Arthur’s name, every time he was met with the chirping of crickets, another wave desperation jolted through him.

He eventually took a seat against one of the many pine trees that surrounded him and let out another, choked up, “Arthur…”

Then he heard something. Something shifting- a twig snapping.

Heart beating fast, John stood slowly and listened. There was another noise. It seemed to originate from behind the tree directly in front of him. “Arthur?” John asked in a hushed tone, moving to peer around the trunk.

What he saw on the other side was a horrifying, yet welcome relief.

Arthur was curled into himself at the base of the tree, visibly shaking. John reached out to touch his arm and winced when he made contact with his skin. It was icy and lifeless. “Arthur, wake up. It’s John,” he pleaded, gently shaking the older man.

After a few long seconds, Arthur’s eyes fluttered open and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Hey,” he whispered. Unsure of what to say, John removed his heavy coat and wrapped it around Arthur. He hadn’t noticed how cold it was.

“John, is that you?” A gruff voice shouted through the trees. It was Dutch, holding his lantern out towards the two men.

John was glad the older man was there, he wasn’t sure he could carry Arthur back to camp on his own. “Yeah, it’s me, I found him! He- he’s alive!”

Dutch rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside Arthur. “Son,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Arthur nodded weakly. “I’m glad to see you both.” Maybe it was the way he said it, or how his eyes shifted back and forth between the two men, that made John come to one startling realization. Dutch seemed to come to the same one.

 

~~~~

 

Arthur didn’t remember much of his short journey back to camp, just that Dutch and John had dragged him most of the way there. All he knew was that he could see the dirt being kicked up beneath his feet, the fuzzy light hitting the trees.

No matter how unfocused or obscured his surroundings were- he could _see._ He wasn’t sure how, or why, but he didn’t care. None of that mattered because he was _free_ again, no longer trapped in that suffocatingly dark prison.

He only really began to process things when he was back in his tent, Dutch eyeing him with a pinched expression. Upon realizing Arthur was eyeing him back, he shifted and cleared his throat. “Are you feeling any warmer?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, despite not remembering much of the cold.

Dutch nodded, something else clearly on his mind. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

“I was an idiot, nothing new.”

The older man grimaced. Arthur knew he couldn’t fool him. Even though he had been an idiot, stumbling blindly into the woods, he wasn’t the one who dunked himself in the river. What was the use of keeping what Micah did a secret? He didn’t owe that man a thing. “I know it was a bad idea, but I needed to do something. Something besides being coddled by everyone.”

“I’m glad your sight is back,” Dutch said hopefully. “I didn’t know something like that was possible.”

Arthur could still sense a hint of worry in the older man’s demeanor. “I’m glad it’s back too, still can’t make out too much though.” Dutch was waiting for him to say more. “Did Micah tell you about the little joke he played?”

“No,” Dutch said calmly, something dangerous sparking in his eyes. “He didn’t.”

Then, as if by some trick of nature, Arthur could make out the blurry form of Micah approaching the tent. “Hey, cowpoke, heard you’re doing better!”

Dutch didn’t say anything at first, turning slowly to face the man. It was obvious by the way he moved back that Micah knew Dutch wasn’t pleased about something. “You saw him,” the older man said slowly, rising to his feet. “You saw him, and you didn’t _tell_ me.”

If Arthur had more energy, he wasn’t sure he’d tried to stop what he knew was about to happen. “I don’t know what you’re talkin about, Dutch. I didn’t-” Micah began, cut off by Dutch pulling him forward by his collar. People around camp were starting to take note that something wasn’t right. 

“Why are you lying to me, boy?” The older man spat, pushing Micah further out into the clearing. “Did you think leaving him out there was _funny?”_

“No, I-”

“You what?” Dutch yelled, his resolve finally breaking. Arthur sat up to get a better idea of what was happening, seeing the fuzzy shapes of onlookers beginning to gather around the pair.

“I didn’t do much! I didn’t think dunking him in the river would-”

Dutch brought his hand back, punching Micah’s jaw with enough force to send him stumbling to the ground. “You did what?”

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk. Ratting himself out was exactly the kind of thing Micah would do, unintentionally, of course. Nobody in the crowd said a word, everyone too stunned by the escalating nature of the fight.

“Get out!” Dutch spat, kicking Micah’s side. “Get out of my sight,” he reached for the pistol at his side, aiming it steadily at Micah’s head. “Get out before I change my mind about sparing you.”

The rat-faced man sniveled, raising a hand to wipe away the blood oozing out of his now broken nose. “Oh, come on Dutch, you wouldn’t shoot me.”

The older man pulled the hammer back and placed his finger on the trigger. “You wanna test that theory?”

 Micah didn’t respond, prompting John to step forward and pull him up roughly. “Let me help ya out there, you son of a bitch.” He shoved the older man past the gawking crowd and drew his gun as well. “If you don’t think he’d shoot you, I sure as hell hope you know _I would.”_

“If you’d rather have a cripple in your gang than me, be my guest,” Micah hissed, clutching his side. “You’ll realize your mistake sooner or later.”

Dutch started forward as he walked away, but John held him back. “Let the bastard go, he’ll get picked up by the law soon enough.”

Arthur wouldn’t save him this time.

 

~~~~

 

It’d been weeks since Micah left, and nobody'd heard from him since. Arthur was glad. He’d never trusted the man, even when Dutch had insisted he could add something to the gang, he never seemed quite right.

The whole thing caused Dutch a great deal of trouble, but he had Hosea- and the rest of his family. They all made sure he knew that.

Arthur’s vision improved steadily, and it seemed that every day things got clearer. He wasn’t sure if his recovery would continue, or if there’d always be a slight blur to his surroundings. He didn’t care much. It was good enough to be able to see anything, he couldn’t ask for any more.

If anything, it was the sunrises he appreciated the most. The way the first light rays of morning illuminated the valley- it was beautiful. It gave him a funny feeling.

The feeling that everything would be alright.


End file.
